


The Show

by Melodious329



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt "Sometimes morning sickness lasts the whole pregnancy. Chris was REALLY sick at Vampire Ball in November; stated later he had to leave stage before he threw up on the 1st row. He just tweeted (2/1/11): "Haven't been this sick n yrs. But we wanted to play this show."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Show

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own nor know the real persons after whom these characters are created

Christian settles himself onto the stool set up for him on stage gently. At five months pregnant, his balance is a little off and the last thing he needs at this point is to go tumbling off the stupid thing.

He grins a little, ducks his face some as the announcer leans on his shoulder and goes on about him being on his deathbed two minutes ago. He knows he looks sick, completely different than the three guys to his right all in short sleeves whereas he’s bundled in a sweatshirt, cap, and fingerless gloves. Course, the nausea that just won’t end isn’t the only reason he’s wearing so many clothes.

Looking out at the audience, he’s just glad that there’s about a foot of space between the stage and the barrier the fans are crowded up on. Even if he had something in his stomach, he wouldn’t manage to projectile vomit that far. Not like in London where the first row was in serious danger being practically on stage with them.

Back in November, he’d only been about a month pregnant. He and Steve had still been coming to grips with the whole unbelievable thing. Steve had been all over him then, worried every time he took a step much less every time he got sick. Now things are a little different. It’s been five months, Christian can’t run out of every show he feels nauseous at, and Steve can’t hover over him all the time without people getting suspicious.

They play their first song, “Let Me Go”, and Christian thinks it goes pretty fucking well considering. He wishes that they could just play their songs and then get off the stage, but that’s not how it works tonight. Hunching over his guitar like it’s the pillow he wishes he was curled around instead, he listens as they announce the next artist, James Otto.

So he waits and tries to listen to the other artists despite the threatening nausea and the pounding behind his eyes. The bright lights of the stage never fail to give him a headache and he keeps his head ducked, the brim of the cap shielding his eyes as much as possible. Looking at one place on the floor also tends to settle his stomach a little.

It’s at the end of James Otto’s first song that he feels it, almost like a fluttering, like the feel of bubbles on his skin in the water, except it’s in his abdomen. It’s the baby moving, he realizes. It’s been happening for about a week now and he’s gotten increasingly better at distinguishing the feel of it.

His first instinct is to turn to Steve. The occurrence is still new enough that he wants to share the moment with his lover. It’s amazing, something he never imagined he would ever feel except from the outside and it makes him forget about how the rest of his body feels.

He’s trying to control his grin when he turns his face toward Steve…Steve who’s busily whispering to the guy beside him, Frankie Ballard, Christian recalls. Christian didn’t really think anything as Steve introduced himself when they first took the stage, and was only a little confused when Steve whispered to the guy during their first song, inviting the other musician to join in.

Now he can’t help feeling a little jealous, a little left out. He wishes Steve were whispering to him if only to keep his mind off of how his stomach feels. And they’re supposed to be being respectful of the other artists anyway.

Christian takes the next opportunity to whisper to Steve himself, “Hey, I think I feel good enough to play the fast ones. How ‘bout Callin’ All Country Women next?”

“Ok. Yeah, I think the crowd’s into fast,” Steve says simply, and then they move away from one another.

Nodding to himself, Christian resists the urge to put his hand on his belly, something he’s gotten a lot of practice at. Instead, he tortures himself by looking over at Frankie Ballard. The guy’s young and fit and blonde. He’s attractive. He’s everything Christian’s not anymore.

Christian’s not young anymore, he’s not carefree. He and Steve have so much history together, good and bad. They’re not just a couple, they’re both responsible for this band again. And now there’s this unexpected pregnancy. Both he and Steve had given up the idea of having a family, together or separate. And now they’re not only having one, they’ve got to keep it secret too so that Christian doesn’t end up a lab rat.

But it’s really Christian who’s hiding, alone. It’s Christian who’s wearing sweatshirts to hide his thickening waist, Christian who’s sick and giving excuses why he doesn’t need to go to a clinic about it. It’s Christian who’s fucking miserably and achy and…hormonal. Steve’s just Steve, free of the burden that Christian’s become. If Steve wants to have a beer, have a cheeseburger, or chat up some hot young guy, more than chat, there’s nothing stopping him.

It’s Frankie’s turn to play and Christian is paying enough attention to hear the guy say it’s his radio single. He leans over to Steve again to quickly whisper, “Nevermind. Let’s play House Rules next.”

Steve just nods and then it’s their turn. The night seems to just drag on for Christian since there are four performers in between every one of their songs. He tries not to focus on what Steve’s doing, but that only leaves his nausea to focus on. The baby’s gone still again, but the heat of the lights doesn’t help his unsettled stomach.

Before they play their last song, though, Christian leans over and steals Steve’s attention from Frankie one last time. “Ok, now we’ll do Callin’ All Country Women. After this I’m goin’ back to the hotel room, but you should stay and hang out with these guys or whatever.”

Steve just says ok and that he’s fine going back to the hotel too, but Christian doesn’t argue. He knows Steve won’t just leave him when he’s sick and pushing Steve won’t help.

After they play, Christian stays out on stage after the other performers have run off. He slowly gets his cords together and takes his time picking up the beads that his fans threw at him. Normally he wouldn’t take the time, but there’s another act coming on after this and the stage guys shouldn’t have to pick up after him. Plus he knows that backstage Steve is undoubtedly continuing his conversation with Frankie. His plan is to dawdle long enough that he can sneak out, leaving Steve to do whatever he wants.

By the time he does exit the stage, he doesn’t even see Steve or Frankie, or anybody except Eric. He gives his manager a small smile of relief. Eric is the only one who knows besides the two guys that started this whole crazy mess and the doctor they found for him. It was just impossible to keep it from his manager. If the rest of the guys know he’s choosy about which shot glass he takes because he’s taking the one with colored water, they probably assume he’s trying to do his liver a favor.

“Back to the hotel?” Eric asks simply. Christian nods. He’s grateful to Eric for a lot of things, but right now he’s grateful in particular that Eric doesn’t ask about where Steve is. Eric is the soul of discretion and he only rarely mentions the pregnancy and never mentions the relationship that got Christian pregnant to begin with.

When they get to the minivan that’s the shuttle between the venue and the hotel, Eric even sits in the very back so Christian can have the whole middle seat to lie down on. Christian immediately takes advantage of the room since the heat has left him lightheaded.

By the time he’s stumbling into the elevator, yes he tripped getting in, he’s feeling worse than ever and wishing that he’d never left the place. He just can’t stand to disappoint everyone, disappoint the fans and the venue and the band, and himself. This may be his only real shot at making it, at creating enough of a base that he can play music forever and it just figures that something as ridiculous as being pregnant would happen now.

Inside his room, he heads immediately for the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet, a position he’s been in so often Steve leaves a folded towel on the tile in front of it. Miserable, he stares into the bowl for a minute until the heaves start again. There’s nothing but some water and bile to come up so it’s mercifully short.

Afterwards he does feel a little better, he’s just exhausted. For a minute, he just leans over the bowl, elbows on the seat and face in his hands. Then he realizes he’d be more comfortable elsewhere. He knows he should go get into bed, but he’s not sure he won’t need to be back in two minutes. Plus there’s something about the antiseptic smell of hotel bathrooms that actually settles his stomach a little.

He knows he shouldn’t, but this won’t be the first time he’s spent the night in a hotel bathroom close to the toilet. He grabs another towel off the rack and takes off his cap and shoes before lying down on his side, face on the towel.

***

Christian wakes up to the soft sound of someone calling his name and gentle hands on his back and shoulder. Blinking his heavy eyelids, he starts to turn over but the hands stop him.

“Chris?” Steve says, kneeling in front of him. Steve smiles to see him awake and keeps talking, “I can’t leave you alone for a minute. C’mon, let’s get up.”

Steve helps him maneuver onto his hands and knees before standing instead of rolling to his back. “This was a great idea,” Steve continues sarcastically. “I’m sure your back and your knees and your swollen ankles are thanking you for it.”

Christian doesn’t bother responding to the criticism, he’s too busy focusing on his stomach and whether he needs to puke again. After standing still for a minute, Steve’s hands still on him, he decides he’s ok for now.

“I need to piss,” he finally grumbles. He has to piss every five seconds nowadays. But he doesn’t shake off the hands as Steve unnecessarily leads him over to the toilet. What he needs help with are his clothes, Christian thinks as his fingers fumble with the zipper on his jeans. He wonders if his fingers are swollen.

Steve moves away for a second and gets his toothbrush ready. “Why’d you leave without me?” Steve asks carefully like he knows the question might lead to a fight.

Christian shrugs. He doesn’t want to fight. Tucking his dick back in but leaving his jeans unzipped, Christian moves to the sink to wash his hands. He has to lean towards Steve to grab his toothbrush, but the smell of beer on Steve’s breath has him jerking away with a grimace as his stomach rumbles ominously.

“Sorry,” Steve says, turning his face away and grabbing his own toothbrush.

Christian just shakes his head wearily. That’s exactly why he left Steve there. “You could have stayed,” he says. “Had some fun and more drinks.”

He stuffs the toothbrush into his mouth then, having said all he should say about this. But he can clearly see that Steve’s posture is a little stiff now and Steve hesitates before beginning to brush his own teeth.

Finally, Steve turns his face to Christian again, placing one hand on Christian’s back. “This is more fun for me,” he says simply.

It’s Christian who’s cutting his eyes away then, ashamed. Steve’s a great guy, and he loves Steve. This is supposed to be the good part, where Christian feels better and eats more and is horny. This is the part where he should be showing off his growing belly, but instead he’s hiding and sick, and ruining the whole experience.

Frustrated, Christian finishes and heads into the bedroom, pulling back the covers and getting in immediately. He wishes he could sleep through most of this, but then he puts his hand on the roundness of his belly and wishes that he felt differently, wishes this experience were different.

He moves his hand away as Steve comes back into the room, getting out a bottle of water, a bottle of Gatorade, an open package of Saltine crackers, and a little bottle of pills that he puts on the bedside table. He looks down at Christian with a sympathetic expression.

“C’mon, you gotta get undressed. And drink some water,” Steve adds.

Christian sighs but let’s Steve roll him out of bed the way he’s supposed to. Steve grabs the hem of his sweatshirt and undresses him then redresses him in a tshirt and sleep pants. Steve even squats and holds open the pant legs for Christian to put his foot through so he doesn’t have to stand on one leg for long. The thoughtfulness just has Christian feeling worse than before.

Steve won’t let him lie back down before he drinks a good bit of water from the bottle. Christian just hopes the water won’t be coming back up. Steve is apparently thinking the same as he says, “I’m really worried that you’re still nauseous. How can it be healthy for you or the baby?”

Christian shrugs as he swallows. “The doctor says some women are nauseous for the whole thing. It by itself doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“But those are women,” Steve insists.

“Well, I’m sorry there isn’t a lot of precedence for male pregnancy,” Christian snaps irritably. He’s sorry as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but he doesn’t take them back.

Steve’s body language says he’s annoyed by Christian’s outburst but Steve doesn’t say anything. Christian’s climbing back into bed when suddenly Steve stops him again.

“Wait,” Steve says urgently as he digs another bottle out of his bag. “We haven’t put on the lotion.”

Scowling, Christian doesn’t stop getting under the covers. “Like shea butter is really going to prevent stretch marks,” he mumbles miserably.

“Just in case it does,” Steve insists as he’s already shucking his own jeans, pulling off his shirt and jewelry, dumping it all to the ground.

Reluctantly, Christian pauses sitting upright with his legs under the covers, resigning himself to humoring Steve. He doesn’t mean to be mad at Steve.

And Steve’s so excited as he climbs into the bed, squeezing himself behind Christian and pulling Christian back against his chest. Steve pulls Christian’s shirt up under his armpits and pushes at the waist of the pants to get at the soft curve of Christian’s belly. Steve’s chin is on Christian’s shoulder as the blonde musician peers down at it.

Squeezing some lotion in his palm, Steve rubs his hands together over Christian’s body to warm them before he touches Christian’s skin. Christian almost hates to admit how much he likes this, how much he likes that Steve likes it. Christian has always loved how Steve touched him, like he’s beautiful and precious and addictive, like Steve just has to touch him, but to feel that now, on his pregnant belly is beyond words.

He’s finally relaxing in Steve’s arms, into the massage of Steve’s hands on his belly when he feels it, a sharper jab from the inside, presumably a tiny foot kicking. Steve goes utterly still, only his hands pressing harder on the spot.

“Is that…?” Steve asks, his breath whispery, caressing Christian’s neck.

“Yeah,” Christian responds softly.

Steve lets out a sound between choking and laughing and then presses his nose into Christian’s cheek. He keeps one hand on Christian’s belly, but the other arm goes around Christian’s chest, holding them tightly together. “My God…” Steve whispers.

A second later, both Steve’s hands are on Christian’s face, smearing leftover lotion as they turn Christian’s face so that their lips meet, gentle and thorough.

“I love you,” Steve whispers. “And I wouldn’t change anything.”


End file.
